Mary's Boys
by Eryn
Summary: Dean, Sam and John after Devil's Trap


Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and WB. I'm just borrowing the characters to play with for a while!

My first attempt at a Supernatural story. Set after Devil's Trap. Enjoy.

**MARY'S BOYS**

**by Eryn Grant**

John Winchester was weary. His whole body ached and not just from the various injuries he had sustained in their battle with the demon and the car crash. His soul ached. Ached for Mary, the ache as new and sharp as it had been 22 years ago.

With a heavy sigh and pushing his exhaustion out of his mind John continued to limp down the corridor, having stubbornly discarded his crutch days ago, towards his son's room.

Reaching the room, John stood just out of view peering through the window. The scene hadn't changed for days. Sam was slouched in a chair at his brother's bedside, his hand touching one of Dean's as if in quiet reassurance and connection. A book was in his other hand and he was reading aloud to his sleeping brother.

John let his mind wander back to the scene of the accident remembering the momentary stab of jealousy when Dean had called for Sam and not him when the paramedics had lifted him into the ambulance. It wasn't until later that John realised that for the first time in as long as he could remember he had done something that his son wanted and needed - he had let Sam go to Dean.

He dragged his mind back to the present and the job in hand. His sons looked at peace with each other and he idly wondered what the book was knowing that Dean wasn't and never had been much of a book lover. Sam looked tired but he had stubbornly refused to leave Dean and in the end the doctor and John had given up trying to persuade him.

He turned his attention to his other son. He had survived. Just. John shivered as the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. He had nearly gotten his son, his sons, killed in his relentless and obsessive pursuit of what had killed their mother. He knew deep down that Mary would have been furious with him for putting her sons at risk.

John glanced down at his wedding ring and fingered it twisting it round and round drawing a kind of strength from the action remembering the gentle woman who had placed it on his finger. But if John was honest with himself, Mary would have hated what he had become, hated his blind obsession and hated what he had turned her sons into.

John looked back towards Dean. It was the quietest his elder son had been for a long time, Deathly pale an oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, having replaced the respirator removed two days ago. Dean's right arm was encased in a bulky cast from wrist to elbow cushioned on a pillow. John knew there were other injuries hidden from view. More scars that his elder son would carry with him for the rest of his life. Scars that would join the other deep wounds John knew his son hid carefully deep within himself caused by demons, beings that prowled the darkness, ghosts, poltergeists and even John himself.

John shook his head trying to dispel the dark images that haunted him concentrating instead on the steady flashing lights of the machines in the room. Connected by a myriad of leads and tubes to his son the machines continued to beep and flash recording Dean's heartbeat and other vital signs. The doctor had assured him that all the machinery was just a precaution. Dean was on the mend.

Steeling himself against the approaching pain and the hurt he was going to cause, John straightened up and tapped on the glass. Sam looked up and smiled at him. John beckoned to him.

Sam looked up from his reading to see his father standing on the other side of the window. He smiled as his father beckoned to him. "Be right back Dean," Sam squeezed Dean's hand not really expecting a response. He couldn't help grinning happily to himself as Dean squeezed his hand back.

Sam slipped out of the room quietly to join his father. "He woke up yesterday afternoon," Sam grinned happily at John. "I tried to call you."

"I had some business to take care of," John replied.

Sam appeared not to have heard him having turned back to look towards Dean. "He's in and out at the moment," he turned back towards his father. "But I think he's gonna be OK."

"I know son," John managed a small smile. "The doctor told me when I called," he patted Sam on the shoulder. John studied his younger son. Sam looked tired and pale. The bruises on his face had faded to a yellowish colour but the long cut down the side of his face where he had hit the windshield still remained an angry red colour. "How you holding up?" he asked. "You look tired."

"I'm fine Dad," Sam replied. "Stitches come out in a couple of days," he indicated his head. "Ribs still hurt a bit, but I'll be fine."

"Sam," John protested. "You should get some rest."

"I will," Sam looked back towards Dean. "Soon."

"You could sleep in the truck on the way," John said quietly. He waited for the words to sink in with his son and braced himself for the coming storm.

"What?" Sam snapped his head back to face his father not sure he had heard right.

John took a deep breath. "I've got a lead," he explained. "A good lead. But we need to leave now."

"What about Dean?" Sam asked confusion showing on his face.

"He can catch up," John interrupted his son. "We'll send him our co-ordinates."

"No," Sam raised his voice. "We can't leave Dean." He gaped at his father in horror. He couldn't believe, after all they had been through together, that his father wanted them to leave Dean. Alone.

John put his hand on Sam's shoulder squeezing gently. "I know how you feel, but you said yourself Dean is getting better. He'll be fine and when he's out of the hospital, he can catch us up," John squeezed Sam's shoulder again. "He's done it before."

"What?" Sam raised his voice. "You've left him before," Sam accused horrified. "You left him alone when he was hurt." He pulled away from his father's grip and started to pace up and down angry. He couldn't find the words to express himself afraid that his words would choke him.

John reached out to touch his son again, but Sam dodged his father's hand continuing his pacing. John silently cursed himself. He hadn't meant to tell Sam that he had left Dean before.

"How many times did you leave him?" Sam recovered himself and stopped his pacing in front of his father. He stepped in close glaring angrily. "How many times did you leave him?" he repeated.

John knew that Sam wouldn't give up until he had an answer. "Twice," he shook his head in defeat. "But I made sure he was OK before I took off. And checked on him regularly."

Sam stepped back glaring at his father. "Well that's OK then," he said sarcastically.

"You weren't there either," John couldn't help snapping. Sam looked away guiltily and John immediately regretted the accusation. "Sam," John tried to calm his voice.

"Don't you Sam me," Sam shouted still angry with his father. "Did you even know that Dean hates to be alone," Sam snapped. "Did you even care?"

"I care about you both," John protested. "You're my sons."

"You got a funny way of showing it," Sam spat. "You want to leave Dean on his own again when he's still sick. He could have died." The accusation hung heavy in the air between them. "And you want to drag my ass after that thing again." He turned his back on his father looking towards his sleeping brother. "You don't know Dean," Sam accused angrily. "And you definitely don't know me. You never have."

"It's important," John replied quietly.

"No it isn't," Sam shouted spinning round to face his father. "Jess and Mom are gone. And they're not coming back." Tears sprang to Sam's eyes and he bit at his bottom lip. "Ever."

"Sam. Don't," John pleaded. "You have to come with me. To find this thing and kill it once and forever. For Mom. For Jess."

"No," Sam said stubbornly as he folded his arms across his chest. "Dean needs me and I'm not going anywhere."

"Dean will be fine," John snapped unexpectedly irritated by his son's behaviour.

"You really don't know him, do you?" Sam said quietly. "After all the years he has followed you, tried to be a good son, did whatever you wanted, you never took the time to get to know him." Sam scowled at his father. John held his gaze for a moment before turning away to stare distractedly at the wall. "I thought so," Sam said triumphantly.

With a sigh John turned back to his son. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Sam was still glaring angrily at him. He reached forward and forced the envelope into Sam's hand. "Here," he said roughly. "That should get you a new car. Some gas. New cell phones. Or buy you a couple of nights at a motel or whatever you need."

Sam stared down at the envelope silently. He looked up to his father's face searching it for any emotion or trace of affection. There was none but Sam couldn't fathom the look on his father's face. It made him angrier. "We don't want your money," he said childishly. "We managed without you for a year. We don't need you." He glared at his father while offering the envelope back.

Each word stung. John had gotten the reaction he had planned for but the hurtful words burned him intensifying the ache he already felt inside. "Take the damn money," he shouted trying to keep the anguish out of his voice. "The Impala is totalled and you need a car. And you need somewhere for you and Dean to stay."

Sam hesitated for a moment before reluctantly sliding the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. He stared down at his feet kicking distractedly at the floor.

John sighed. "Call Bobby when you want the weapons, ammo and stuff," he said. "He's looking after them for you."

"We won't need them," Sam looked up at his father before turning his back on him. Sam bit at his lip again to stop the threatened tears. "Don't call or contact us for a while," he forced himself to say. "Dean needs to get better and I'm gonna take him somewhere safe. Somewhere away from you... and your demons."

John stepped forward. He wanted desperately to say goodbye to his elder son, touch him but he knew that Sam probably wouldn't welcome the intrusion at the moment. "Sam," he said.

"No," Sam tensed. He kept his back firmly towards his father as he moved towards Dean's room. "Take care of yourself," he whispered to himself.

Sam slumped down into the chair by Dean's bedside. He clutched at Dean's hand tightly. He knew if his brother was properly awake he would be complaining but Sam needed strength, Dean's strength, not to look up to his father and beg him to stay.

"Hey man," a croaky voice said. "Hurting." Dean had managed to pull down his oxygen mask with his injured hand and was staring at Sam. He smiled weakly at his brother. "You look like hell," Dean noted.

"This from a man lying in a hospital bed," Sam grinned at his brother. He loosened his grip but didn't let go of Dean's hand. Although pale Dean looked much better, his green eyes were no longer glassy and unfocused. "How you feeling?"

Dean was silent for a moment and Sam could see a million emotions flash through his brother's eyes. "My hair hurts," Dean complained pulling a face.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Only you could have painful hair," he teased.

Dean went to reply but started coughing instead and Sam could see the pain it caused his brother. He turned and grabbed a glass of water off the bedside cupboard. He handed it to Dean. "Drink something," he instructed. "It will make you feel a little better."

Sam expected an argument but apart from a roll of his eyes Dean took the glass and managed a few sips of the water before handing the glass back to Sam. Dean moved his head to one side looking towards the window. "Dad here?" he asked even though he already knew the answer. His father had left. Left without saying goodbye to him.

"No," Sam replied, his voice suddenly shaky with emotion.

"Must have just dreamed the shouting then," Dean rolled his head back to look at Sam.

Sam stared at Dean. "You heard?"

"Kinda hard not to," Dean said. "You and Dad always did have noisy fights."

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't kiddo," Dean said. "I was awake."

"With your eyes closed," Sam couldn't help himself.

"Yeah," Dean raised his eyebrows. "I was dozing. Listening to you read."

"You were?" Sam said surprised.

"Yeah," Dean gave a small grin. "Wanna see if the guy gets the hot girl."

"Dean," Sam couldn't help laughing. It relieved the tension he had been feeling after the argument with his father.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dean offered. He could see the look in Sam's eyes and he couldn't help worrying. He hadn't heard everything they had shouted at each other but he knew, from the look on Sam's face, that it had been a bad fight.

"No," Sam said. "I know how you hate chick flick moments." Dean scowled at him. "Look Dean, it'll be fine. I'm fine. Quit worrying." Sam realised guiltily that his argument had meant that his father had left without saying goodbye to Dean. He stared towards the window wishing his father still stood there. He needed him. Dean needed him.

"OK," Dean decided to drop the subject for the time being but made a mental note to bring the subject up again when he felt a little stronger. He changed the subject. "Hey didn't we watch the film of that book you were reading back when we were kids," Dean thought hard. "Yeah I remember now. Stewart Granger, Deborah Kerr and some freaky tall guy in a skirt."

Dean looked towards his brother for an answer, but Sam was still staring at the window lost in his own thoughts. "Hey," he nudged Sam's hand. "If you hurry, you'll probably catch up with him," he said. He tried and succeeded in keeping the dread out of his voice. Dean hated being alone. Hated the feeling of being abandoned. He always had. He closed his eyes for a moment - the demon had been right he needed Sam and his father more than they needed him and the truth had hurt. He looked towards the window again, but his father had abandoned him again. Dean had desperately tried to be a good son but he had never come up to his father's expectations. His father had left him time and time again and Dean knew it was because he was a disappointment. His father had never come when he called or when Sam called. When they needed him. He realised that this past year his only constant had been Sam. He shivered. Dean couldn't help being afraid that Sam would leave and he would be alone again.

Sam noticed his brother shiver. "I'm not Dad," he answered. He had heard the demon taunting Dean preying on the insecurities that his brother hid deep within him behind the armour that he had carefully constructed over the years. No-one got close to Dean. But Sam liked to think that over the last year, they had become close again. Close like they had been as children. Sam hadn't thought of his childhood for a long time. His father had never been there for him. Dean had been the one always there for him caring for him, walking him to school, reading to him, making him breakfast and lunch and most importantly unconditionally loving him. Dean had never expected or asked for anything in return. Dean was his hero, always had been, always would be. And now Dean needed him. It was about time he returned the favour. Sam didn't think of it as a duty. It was love unconditionally returned. "I'm staying," he took hold of Dean's hand. "So you're stuck with me."

"Just my luck. Stuck with my geek brother," Dean said but he squeezed Sam's hand to take the edge out of the words.

"Dean," Sam bit at his lower lip. "What we gonna do? Dad's gone. The demon's still out there." He stared at Dean frowning. "It's just you and me."

"A great team," Dean replied. "Look don't worry Sammy. We'll figure something out once I'm outta this joint."

"Yeah," Sam looked hopeful. He knew that he could rely on Dean to come up with a plan. Although he had given his father the impression he knew exactly what he was doing, he hadn't a clue. And he had yet to tell his brother that he had told his father not to contact them. He decided to face that problem later on.

"Yeah," Dean gave him a small smile. "I promise. OK?" Dean held onto his chest as he coughed.

"OK," Sam nodded. He noted that Dean had begun to wheeze as he spoke and his face had become ashen, his eyes tired. "Now let's get this back on," he bent over to readjust the oxygen mask. "Before you get us in trouble with the doctor."

"Sammy," Dean protested swatting at Sam's hand.

"It's Sam," Sam grinned as he replaced the mask. "And until you can stand, I'm in temporary command."

Dean gave him a threatening look. "Freak," he mouthed.

"Bitch," Sam mouthed back as he picked up the book again. He watched as Dean closed his eyes. He lay one hand on Dean's hand and started to read.

John leant his head on the steering wheel. He thought about Sam. The old hurt, resentment and anger had been there in both of them bubbling just beneath the surface ready to erupt at the right trigger. John had counted on that but the rawness of the pain and hurt at Sam's words had taken him by surprise. He felt a wave of emptiness rush over him. The ache was back and he drew in a sharp breath forcing back the tears that burned at his eyes.

Sam's words echoed in his head. But he was right. He didn't know Dean. He didn't know Sam. They had grown up into good young men before his eyes and he had been blind and missed it. All of it. Sadness replaced the ache in his soul for all the times they could have spent together as a family. Mary would have liked that.

He knew his sons needed him but now was not the right time. They had each other needed each other and would look out for one another. John had no doubts that his sons would be fine as long as they stayed together. He sat up rubbing his hand across his face. He had a job to do. His precious sons were safe for a while and that made the deep pain within him a little less. He was doing this for Mary. For Mary's boys.

Tears threatened again but he forced them back. He had a job to do. He turned the ignition and the truck roared into life.

END


End file.
